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The Hogwarts Horntails! (Team 1 of the QWC)

To Fly Again

Hogwarts Horntails: Team 1 of the QWCMask, MG, Ritta and Kumy

Harry Potter walked up to the highest seats in the Quidditch stadium. Four years ago, he had been in these same box seats, watching the game with his friends. Four years ago, Voldemort had not killed most of them.

The war is over now. It was worth it.

England was hosting the World Cup for the second time consecutively in honor of its crucial part in the War.

Perhaps in consolation for his war wounds – and resulting inability to fly – the Ministry had offered him the position of announcer. Unable to stay away from the game, he’d accepted.

“Welcome,” Harry said, hearing his own voice strangely deep and important across the noise of thousands of cheering people, “to the four hundred and twenty-third World Cup final!”

The din increased at that, so that Harry waited a few seconds before continuing. “Before we begin, may we have a moment of silence in memory of those who are not here to celebrate the recommencement of this event.”

A spell couldn’t have brought silence more quickly than those words. On either side of Harry, Ginny and Hermione bowed their heads. He knew their thoughts were the same as his. Ron.

"And now," he said amongst the cheering of the Turkey fans, "the English Jarveys!" The other half of the stadium broke out into thunderous applause as what appeared to be an army of over-grown ferrets marched onto the stadium.

"Who names a country after a food?" the Jarveys sneered. The Clabberts' pustules flashed red. "And why 'Turkey'? You're all a bunch of hams!"

Before the Clabberts could respond, Harry cleared his throat. Every one turned to look at him, including the mascots. "Now, I would like to introduce the Turkish team!"

Small note: Jarveys can talk, but it usually consists of insults and rude phrases.

The crowd continued to go wild for a couple of minutes, and Harry couldn’t help but smile to himself; it almost felt as if life were back to normal.

As the clamor of the crowd died down, Harry introduced the referee, Margo Quincy.

A plump woman flew out to the field in a referee regulated broomstick.

“Welcome everyone! I would like to take this opportunity to make an important announcement,” she began.

After clearing her throat, the woman’s jovial voice boomed throughout the pitch.

“First, it is of utmost importance that both teams play fair.”

*passes torch to next team mate -- please continue on with the humor!*

I've left moddom/fandom...though don't be surprised if I get caught lurking once in a blue moon.
All questions pertinent to Ravenclaw need to be sent to ToBeOrNotToBeAGryffindor
If you wish to keep in touch, feel free to friend me on LJ - I don't friend anyone under the age of 18. Sorry!

I've left moddom/fandom...though don't be surprised if I get caught lurking once in a blue moon.
All questions pertinent to Ravenclaw need to be sent to ToBeOrNotToBeAGryffindor
If you wish to keep in touch, feel free to friend me on LJ - I don't friend anyone under the age of 18. Sorry!

I have time for one more drabble. Then it's bed for me! Great work so far, guys!!! We're done with the beginning!

The English team looked anxious. Worthington was notorious for his fiery temper. But the captain gallantly smiled, shaking Khanh's hand before flying away, his hands white around his broomstick handle.

Referee Moreloot grinned. He released the Snitch and watched it fly away, the golden ball quickly disappearing in the huge stadium.

He grabbed the Quaffle in one hand and the tether holding the Bludgers in their case with the other.

"Let the game begin!" Moreloot announced as he threw up the Quaffle and released the Bludgers.

The crowd roared as Chasers from either team dived to catch the red ball.

So I added in a move that wasn't on our list - but I think this section fits fairly well. Maybe?

“…and it’s Rutledge with the Quaffle for England!” Harry said, as the Chaser spiraled off towards the Turkish goals. “But what’s that he’s doing? I think he’s attempting a Woolongong Shimmy, but the Turkish Chasers are closing fast!”

Angelina was keeping pace under and slightly ahead of Rutledge, ready to make a catch, but he continued his crazy zig-zag. “And will Rutledge make the pass to his teammate before it’s too late?” Harry leaned forward, squinting into the tangle of arms and legs.

“But no! It’s Vural, passed to Kundakchi, who’s away up the pitch towards the English goals.”